The Lethal Target(42)

‘What is it?’ asked Jake.

‘There’s a rowing boat just along the shore. Just a small one. It’s Dougie’s, but he hardly ever used it.’ In the half-light Jake saw a wistful smile cross Robbie’s face. ‘He preferred boats with engines.’

‘You’re suggesting we row to somewhere further along the shore?’ asked Jake.

‘No.’ Robbie shook his head. ‘They’ll be watching for us all the way along the shore. I’m thinking we row out to Patrick’s Island.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Lauren.

‘It’s a very small island about a mile offshore. If we make it, we can hide out there until we see the search parties come out tomorrow, and get their attention.’

‘What search parties?’ queried Lauren.

‘Police, coastguard, search and rescue, and other volunteers,’ explained Jake. ‘Looking for you.’

‘Dad said they’ll be starting out tomorrow morning,’ Robbie added.

‘What are the chances of us reaching this boat alive and getting away?’ asked Lauren.

‘It’s the only one we’ve got,’ said Robbie. ‘If we stay here, we’ll be killed. If we try and make it along the shore, we’ll be killed.’

‘The boat it is.’ Jake nodded.

‘Stay close to the cliffs,’ Robbie ordered them. ‘There’s a bit of an overhang that should hide us from their torches until we get to the boat.’

‘And once we get to the boat?’ asked Lauren.

Robbie gave a doubtful sigh.

‘Then, it’s up to good luck,’ he said.

They crept along the shingle, hugging close to the cliff, all too aware of the voices above them calling to one another in Russian, and the torch beams shining down on the shore just a metre away from them. They hardly dared breathe in case it might be heard by the people hunting them.

Finally, they came to the rowing boat tied to a wooden post hammered into the beach. Even here, the beams of torches were still searching for them, light coming down from above and scanning the shore just a few metres away. They stood, hiding, until after what seemed an age the torchlights moved away inland. Immediately, Robbie darted out and set to work unfastening the mooring rope. When it was free, he gestured to Jake and Lauren to stand ready to help push the small boat across the shingle to the water.

‘Wait until they’ve moved away,’ he whispered, gesturing upwards towards the cliff top.

‘Say they don’t?’ asked Jake.

‘They will,’ said Robbie. ‘When you’re doing a search, you don’t just stay in one place. They’ve been on the cliff path for a good while now. They’re bound to move further inland in a minute or two.’

‘If they do, maybe we could still make it along the water’s edge in the boat?’ suggested Lauren. ‘Land somewhere nearer the path to your place?’

‘Not a good idea,’ whispered back Robbie. ‘They’ll definitely have people watching all the paths to our place. That’s where they’ll expect us to go. And if we stay too close to the shore, there’s a chance they’ll hear the oars.’

‘So Patrick’s Island sounds the safest place for us at this moment,’ said Jake.

‘If we can get there,’ added Lauren fearfully.

The three stood in the darkness of the cliff, tense, hands on the edge of the small boat, listening. After an agonising wait, as Robbie had predicted, they heard the voices of the Russians move away from the cliff path directly above them as the search headed inland.

‘Now!’ whispered Robbie urgently.

They pushed at the boat, the feeling of fear inside each giving them extra strength, and the rowing boat slid over the shingle. Almost immediately they were up to their calves in the cold water.

‘Get in!’

Jake and Lauren clambered aboard the boat, and Robbie continued pushing it further out into the water until he was up to his waist, before he climbed aboard with them.

He slotted the two oars into the rowlocks, and began heading out, using long strokes. Jake was impressed by the way the blades of the oars cut through the water, pushing the boat along, but without any splashing noises. Jake knew that if he’d tried rowing, there would have been a lot of splashing going on, and the beams from the torches would have soon been shining on them, followed by a hail of bullets.

Robbie continued rowing, pulling hard at the oars. Jake looked back towards the shore, and now he could see on the cliff top the criss-crossing of beams of light, and even from this distance they could hear voices raised. As he watched, he saw the beams of light from torches appear from around the headland and move along the shore towards the very narrow cave they’d come out of just a brief while before. Other beams of light were moving along the shore from the other direction, from the direction of the guest house.